Between the Lines
by Aloemilk
Summary: How could Hermione not know that Ron can sing? 6th year flangst.


Prefect patrols were a duty, and one that Hermione took very seriously. The fact that she was willing to break the rules for things that mattered was, she knew, one of the things that made her a Gryffindor. Surely, the same still applied when she was breaking rules for the boy she was irrevocably head over heels for, right?

She had tried to go to sleep but had failed miserably. Even two days after his birthday, she couldn't forget the moment when Hagrid had said, "_Look at him lyin' there. . . . Who'd want ter hurt him, eh?_", and she had looked at Ron, only to have her blood curling in her veins again: he looked too pale, his chest barely raising, his breathing so shallow. The memory didn't want to leave her alone. After replaying the scene in her mind numerous times, she gave up, taking her robes and wearing them over her pajamas, leaving the room on soft feet.

Hermione followed the twists and turns of the castle, heading closer and closer to the infirmary. She half expected someone to see her, so she prepared to explain she was on a late night patrol of the corridors, listing believable reasons in her mind. No one crossed her path.

She cautiously opened the door to the large room. At this time of night, Madam Pomfrey would have retired for the night, giving Hermione the freedom to quietly come in and go to his bed. She tried to make her steps as soft as possible, wanting to prevent being caught and knowing that it was likely Ron was sleeping, too. That would be okay. All she wanted to do was take a look at him and make sure he was all right.

She approached the curtains surrounding Ron's bed and froze. The sound coming through them made no sense, and her brain searched for meaning and threats at the speed of light. No steps, no disappointed Madam Pomfrey scolding her, only singing. Coming from Ron's general area. She stared at the pale fabric blocking her view as if it held the answers.

"..._need you_

_You're the only one I care enough to hurt about_

_Maybe I'm-a crazy_

_But I just can't live without_

_your lovin' and affection_

_Givin' me direction_

_Like a guiding light to help me through a darkest hour_

_Lately I'm a-prayin'_

_That you'll always be a-stayin' beside me_..."

Forcing herself to breathe, Hermione braved the last few steps, resolutely stopping her brain from telling her he was singing and thinking of his girlfriend. If she did, she'd run far, far away, to struggle both with the memory of his almost-death and his unattainable heart. She blocked the thought, determined to solve the mystery of how she could not know that Ron could sing.

With a shaky hand, she opened the curtain.

He was resting on pillows, his eyes cast down.

"_Used to be my life was just emotions passing by, feeling all the while and never really knowing_-" in what seemed like one swift motion, his eyes lifted, he noticed her, and he startled in place with enough force to shake the bed. "-Bloody hell!"

"Sssshhhh!" she admonished, coming into the space and closing the curtain behind her. "We don't want to alert Madam Pomfrey."

"What are you doing here?!" he asked, sitting up higher on the pillows.

"I was doing my rounds and I thought I would deviate for a moment. That is, if you don't mind."

"I don't, but-"

"You can sing," she said, unaware of the wonder in her voice. "That was…"

"Hermione, you can't tell anyone, please!"

"What? Why? Your voice is wonderful!"

"It isn't- that's not the point- just don't-"

"I had no idea… after all these years of knowing you and I never knew-"

"Nobody knows, and I'd like it to stay that way, all right?"

The urgency in his voice made her stop. She came to stand next to him, her hip resting on the bed.

"But why?"

"Can you imagine what'd happen if my brothers knew? They'd never let me live it down!"

"Do you really think they'd make fun of this?" Hermione knew his brothers - and his sister too, to be honest - could be mean to him and, when he believed their teasing, he could feel bad for days.

"They'd make fun of anything and you know it," he replied, almost mumbling in embarrassment.

"Really, there is nothing to be embarrassed about," she gently said, but she understood his reasons to want to keep it private. "That was… it was amazing."

"Stop it. It wasn't anything special," he said, but she thought there was a spark of hope in his rebuttal. It was easier to help him keep the secret if he believed _she_ appreciated his singing.

"All right, I won't tell anyone, but what's the story?"

He shrugged, dismissive. "My dad used to have a Muggle record player. Don't ask me how he got it working, but we had only one record and he would listen to it over and over again when we were little. He would always wonder at how the music was held in the grooves. I can still sing every single song on that album."

"Do you know the name of the band?"

"Bread, I think. American. Ridiculous name for a band, though, innit?"

She laughed. "Well, what I got to hear… it was a really nice song."

The corner of Ron's mouth curled up in a small smile. He gave her a furtive look. "Yeah, it is."

Silence grew between them, the levity of the moment quickly fading into nothingness.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I'm sorry about everything," he blurted at the same time.

"Don't worry about it-" she tried, but he didn't let her finish.

"I'm not worrying. I know I cocked it up."

Hermione looked down to her wringing hands, not knowing what to say. She didn't want to hope for too much, for a moment where he'd say he wished he could erase it all, for the opportunity to say she regretted so much, and would he forgive her for being a jealous, possessive friend. She didn't want to hope they could solve the mess, and go back to a time when their hearts were close to each other, and close to being revealed.

"Maybe… just sit down. Please," he added as an afterthought, pointing at a chair next to the bedside table. She did.

"I've been meaning to say, well… I was an arse, and not only to you," he began.

"I wasn't nice, either. I was shrill and hurtful, too."

"But only in response to my own stuff."

"I don't believe that, but even if it were true, it doesn't excuse what I did," she said.

"I wanna break up with her," he said and, by the way he pursed his lips right afterwards, he was nervous about her reaction.

"Do you?" she asked softly, swiftly changing topics as she followed his lead.

"We… we're not right together."

"I don't think she will be very happy about that," she offered, choosing not to say that Lavender's pain would be Hermione's joy.

"I know. I don't know how I'm going to do it. I've never… done that, before."

Hermione stayed quiet, wanting to know what else he'd say, not knowing what to say herself. How could she trust she would say the right thing, not too much, not too little? She looked at her lap in doubt.

"You… have you ever done it?" he asked, evidently trying to be casual about it, by the tone of his voice.

Hermione looked up at him, trying to decipher what was behind that question. He wasn't looking at her.

"Why, are you looking for advice?"

He looked at her then. "If you have any."

"Not really. I only told someone once that I would rather stay friends with him. That's all."

"Oh," was all he said.

Hermione could feel her eyebrows furrowing in confusion and quite a bit of frustration- at how stilted the conversation felt, at the mistakes they had made. Years later, she would regret not making the conversation happen the way she had wanted it to go; she knew she could have been more open about her feelings and hopes, especially after he had opened up about what was happening for him in relation to Lavender. At that moment she didn't have that clarity, because all she could think of was that, despite his announcement that he wanted to break things up with Lavender, they were still together. That inevitably meant that what she wanted-all she wanted-couldn't happen.

She got up and straightened her robes, getting ready to leave.

"I should get going. I've been away from my patrol for too long."

"Oh, uhm… thanks for coming."

He didn't sound grateful; there was no cheer in his remark. She wondered if he also felt disappointed their conversation had had more hidden between the lines than out in the open.

"How come you weren't sleeping?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I've been sleeping too much during the day. I wasn't tired."

She turned, ready to leave, but stood in place when he began to sing again.

"_Oh, it took so long to find…"_

She turned again to look at him.

"The song is stuck in my head," he shrugged, but the half-smile he was trying to contain told her there was more to it. "And singing helps me to think."

She nodded, turning back to leave, but he interrupted her movement.

"If you don't like this song I can sing you some Celestina Warbeck tomorrow, if you come back," he offered.

She gave him a smile, hopeful. She nodded again and finally left his section of the infirmary, reminded by his words that they had a long time to make things right.

**AN: Based on a headcanon by Wildegreenlight on Tumblr. Thanks to Trademarkblue for her beta read (and beautiful comments).**


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